


The One In Which Harry Styles Has Blue Balls

by Thelonelycoast



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: 1dkinkmeme, M/M, One-Shot, Smut, prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-13
Updated: 2012-12-13
Packaged: 2017-11-21 00:26:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/591378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thelonelycoast/pseuds/Thelonelycoast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Styles is horny. The problem is...Louis won't leave him alone. He seems to have a sixth sense for when Harry needs a wank - showing up for a cuddle or with a pile of DVDs or take-away. Even when Harry tries to escape and have a wank in the shower, Louis is there brushing his teeth and prattling on, oblivious to Harry's growing problem. Harry can't refuse time with Louis, doesn't want to, but Louis, unknowingly, is only making his problem worse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The One In Which Harry Styles Has Blue Balls

**Author's Note:**

> Just a fluffy bit of smut done from a prompt at 1dkinkmeme.

**The One In Which Harry Styles Has Blue Balls**

Harry Styles is horny.  So horny he can’t think of anything but tearing off his trousers and bringing himself off in a series of frantic, juddering strokes.  He’d spent most of their interview with Sugarscape with his boner tucked up under his waistband, nervously fidgeting and giving brief, bewildering replies to the interviewer’s questions.  The other boys had begun to give him odd looks by the end and he’s fairly sure he’d made a right prat of himself somehow, although he can’t for the life of him figure out what it was he said because every time he shifts, his cockhead rubs up against his stomach just so and it’s taking all his concentration _not_ to have an orgasm on national television.  
  
Harry wanted to go to the toilet for a quick one after, but Paul had dragged them off towards their waiting car and there were crowds and they couldn’t get separated and there wasn’t any time to stop.  And then there were hands grabbing him on the way out, _anonymous_ hands, but hands nonetheless, and then Louis’ hip was wedged up against Harry’s in the cab and Zayn fell asleep on Harry’s other shoulder and Harry had sat in the middle of the two just _throbbing-throbbing-throbbing_ and trying to follow the other boy’s conversation, but failing.  
  
By lunch, Harry’s boner’s had gone down somewhat, but not enough to be undetectable so he’s carrying his coat in front of him, which had prompted Liam to ask on the ride over if he was cold and prompted Louis to snuggle closer and prompted Harry’s erection to give a by-then-painful twitch.  
  
“What was all that then?” Liam asks with one raised eyebrow, when they’re all five of them alone again at lunch.    
  
Harry gives Liam a blank look and Niall says, laughing through a mouthful of sandwich,  “When she asked what your favorite color was, you said banana.”  
  
“Banana’s a color,” Harry mumbles, color flooding his face as he tries to sink under the table entirely.  Maybe he’d manage a bit of privacy under there at least.  
  
“Sure it is Hazz,” Louis grins, slapping Harry on the back.  
  
***  
  
Harry Styles has had a boner all day and it’s all Louis’ fault.  Harry feigns exhaustion when they arrive back at the hotel, yawning theatrically in the lobby as the others take off for the hotel bar, but Louis insists on bunking with Harry (as always).  Harry tries to sneak off for a quick wank in the shower, but then Louis is in there too, telling a loud, hard-to-follow story about pigeons and breakfast pastry and a fountain, as he brushes his teeth.  Harry tries to wank anyway, but when a low moan escapes his lips and Louis asks, “ _everything all right in there Hazza_?”, he gives up.  He can’t get off without making noise and he can’t make noise without drawing Louis’ attention.  
  
By bed-time, Harry is lying on his stomach, the friction of the mattress against his trapped hard-on entirely unbearable, but the alternative - tenting the blankets so Louis can see, is infinitely worse in his mind.  Harry’s gone so long without release that his balls feel as if they’re being continually squeezed and there are actual, literal tears welling in his eyes when Louis finally flicks off the telly and snuggles up to him.  Harry wills himself to think of footie or food or anything but the excruciating ache between his legs and the way Louis smells and the way Louis’ hot breath tickles the hair at the back of his neck and the way Louis’ thigh is draped over his and _goddamn_ , this is all Louis’ fault.  
  
***  
  
Their lives are a non-stop flurry of interviews and green rooms and red carpets and radio stations and venues and promo-spots and appearances.  They live out of each other’s pockets on the road, which most of the time Harry is thankful for, because he’s young and it’s his first time away from home and from him mom and they make him less homesick.  But there are the usual petty squabbles - about food (like when Niall ate Zayn’s leftovers from Nandos and Zayn had come home drunk and suddenly desperate for some chicken) or clothing (Louis was always taking Harry’s and Harry was always taking Louis’ and sometimes they forgot who had originally owned something to begin with)  or messes (Louis’) or space (which there was never enough of).    
  
Needless to say, their free time was precious.  It was when Zayn and Liam Skyped with their respective girlfriends, when Niall caught up on sleep, when Louis caught up on reality television and when Harry got some alone time to sort himself out.  The problem was, every time they had a bit of free-time lately, Louis is there - showing up at Harry’s door with a pile of DVDs or take-away or a bottle of liquor in a brown paper bag and a comically naughty look on his face.  
  
There were times - like _now_ , when Harry was in the first few strokes of a well-needed wank, that he considers just not answering the increasingly frantic knocks on his door that can only mean one thing - _Louis_ , but then he thinks of how much he actually likes Louis and he’s shoving his dick back into his pants and going to answer.  
  
Harry _really_ likes Louis.  He likes the way Louis looks and he likes the way he smells and he likes the way Louis makes him laugh even when he’s feeling crap and he even likes when Louis drags him into his stupid, mostly illegal plots and gets them both in trouble.  
  
Harry likes Louis so much he can even manage to overlook the fact that Louis has horrible table manners, that he’s constantly taking Harry’s things without asking, that he leaves a mess behind him in every room he goes, that he can get titchy about the slightest offense or  that he has a girlfriend - who he hardly ever sees or talks about and Harry suspects he’s not even entirely _into_ unless cameras are around.  What Harry _can’t_ overlook is eight inches long and it’s between his own legs.  And Louis is making it worse.  
  
It’s the second straight week of Harry not cumming and he’s going out of his mind.  He’s even started to suspect that Louis has a sort of sixth sense for when Harry has his hands down his pants because that’s always when he seems to show up.  
  
This time, he’s got the rest of the boys in tow.  “I brought you lunch,” Louis says proudly, swinging a plastic bag at his side.  
  
“We brought you lunch,” Zayn corrects, because most likely he was the one who actually paid for it, while Louis takes the credit as usual.  
  
“Niall’s eaten all your chips though,” Louis says with a conspiratory wink.    
  
Niall playfully boffs Louis in the back of the head.  “If you didn’t tell him, he wouldn’t have even known there _were_ chips.”  
  
“There were chips,” Louis says, as Harry takes the container from him and thanks them all.  
  
While Harry gets himself a soda from the fridge, the others make themselves comfortable on his couch and pop in a movie.  By the time Harry returns, there’s only the floor to sit.  Louis pats his lap, “Come on, big boy.  My lap’s getting cold.”  
  
“I’m okay,” Harry mumbles, sitting on the floor with his back to the couch because he can’t trust himself to be so close to Louis and not have a boner.  Zayn and Niall risk a glance at each other over Harry’s shoulder because it wasn’t often that Harry turned down a seat near or _on_ Louis.  
  
Harry’s balls are still aching a bit from the previous night though and even Louis’ mock offended look can’t dissuade him.  He eats his sandwich in silence as they watch the movie, wishing there were chips and when he’s done, Louis leaps on his shoulders, wrestling him to the carpet.  
  
“Too big to sit on your old man’s lap then?” he teases as he tries to pin Harry’s wrists to the floor.  
  
“Does anyone else find it a bit creepy that he calls himself Harry’s old man?” Niall asks and the others just snigger because its _HarryandLouis_ and they’ve always been a bit creepy.  
  
“Geroff,” Harry grunts, trying to knee Louis in the balls, because he’s desperate and he can’t think of anything else and if Louis doesn’t get off him soon he’s going to discover the very big, very hard secret between Harry’s legs.  
  
Louis manages to dodge Harry’s knee, but it only incites him further.  “Ohh, going to play dirty then, huh?” he asks, stabbing at Harry’s armpits and his sides and all the places Louis knows he is ticklish.  
  
And _ohgod_ , the feeling of Louis struggling atop him isn’t _much_ , but then, Harry doesn’t really _need_ much.  He’s already been so close all week and when Louis shifts and his thigh is grinding against Harry’s by now very evident hard-on, Harry can feel it coming and he can’t stop it.  He squeezes his eyes closed because he thinks if he can’t see Louis it might help, if he can’t see Louis looking so flushed and clear-eyed and handsome above him, with his fringe hanging down enticingly into his face, it might stop the tightening of his balls and familiar ache in abdomen and _ohgod_ , it was really happening, wasn’t it?  He was really cumming in his pants while Louis sat astride him and the others sat only feet away on the couch, completely oblivious to the fact that Louis was giving him a fucking _orgasm_ without even trying.  
  
Harry stops his squirming, goes dead rigid under Louis and bites down so hard on his lip in an effort to suppress his moan he actually draws blood.  And then he’s wrecked and panting and he can’t take it back and when he opens his eyes, Louis is just staring at him, completely frozen in place, with his hands still braceleting Harry’s wrists and his hips still astride Harry’s waist.  
  
“Hazza?” Louis looks from Harry’s face down to the growing wet spot near his zipper and then back up again, dropping Harry’s wrists and rolling back onto the balls of his heels so Harry can get up.  
  
“I’ve got to-”  But Harry doesn’t say what’s he got to do before he rushes from the room.  
  
“What’s got into him?” he hears Liam ask before he shuts his bedroom door.  
  
“Louis probably gave him a boner or summat,” comes Zayn’s smirking reply and then Harry’s back is sliding down the wall of his bedroom and he’s sitting there trembling and damp and in complete shock.  
  
***  
  
It was just like Louis. Just like him to show up every time Harry doesn’t want him to, every time Harry has business to attend to, and then when Harry actually does want him, he’s nowhere to be found.  Well, he doesn’t _actually_ want to make conversation with Louis, not after what happened, but he does _sort of_ miss him.   _Sort of.  A lot._  
  
And it does funny things to his stomach when Harry sees paparazzi photos of Louis out with Eleanor, because it feels more than a bit contrived, like Louis is trying to shove his sexuality in Harry’s face and even though he wants Louis to be happy, it still hurts seeing them together because they haven’t seen each other in weeks and why _now_?  It feels like a coded message to Harry: _I was never yours_.  
  
Harry’s so depressed he can’t even be bothered to wank, though his dick seems to have other ideas.  The near-constant state of arousal hasn’t changed much.  By now it feels like Harry’s balls are in a vice, the pressure only slightly abated by that time he came on his best friend’s leg (like he could forget).  But Harry almost welcomes the pain now, as penance for what he’s done.  It’s sick, _he’s_ sick, sick for wanting Louis, sick for wanting him like _this_.  
  
Louis is avoiding Harry and Harry can’t blame him because Harry is avoiding Louis too.  Because he’s embarrassed and because every time he goes to touch himself he thinks of Louis’ face above his after he’d just come and wants to sink through the mattress and the floor and keep on sinking until he’s buried in the earth’s molten core, where hopefully he’ll be too busy burning alive to think about Louis, but probably not.  
  
After a particularly frustrating day of interviews and photoshoots and Louis flirting with everyone in the room _but_ Harry, Harry’s fists are clenched in rage and he’s seeing white.  It wasn’t _his_ fault he’d cum on Louis; if anything it was _Louis_ ’ fault - for never letting Harry alone to properly wank, for being so damn attractive, for moving his thigh the way he had against Harry’s cock.  Harry’s dick had never stood a chance.  
  
They’re in the dressing room, taking a break between takes and before Harry knows what he’s doing, he’s slammed Louis’ back up against a wall.  “Harry?” Louis asks meekly.  
  
“Don’t Harry me,” Harry explodes.  “You think you can come in here with your tight pants and your fringe and your good-smelling cologne and just...turn on whoever you like?”  
  
“I’m sorry?” Louis croaks, because Harry’s hand is around Louis’ throat now - not tightly, just tightly enough for Louis to feel it, to feel what Harry’s been feeling for the past two weeks, like he can’t get any air into his lungs, like he can’t get any relief.  
  
“So I came on your leg.  But I wouldn’t have even been so turned on if you’d given me a spare moment alone all week to have a proper wank.  But you’re always around.  You’re _always_ around and you’re always cuddling me and touching me and I’ve had blue-balls for the past two weeks because of you and you have no idea how frustrating that is-”    
  
Harry’s screaming like a nutter now and the other’s are all in the room and all staring, but Harry’s past caring, because he’s had _enough_.  He’s tired and his balls hurt and who is Louis to ignore him, to flirt with other people who aren’t him, to go out with Eleanor like Harry hadn’t cum on his leg just a few days prior, like Harry and his cum didn’t mean anything?  
  
“Guys, maybe we should go-” Liam says tentatively, but Harry’s so mad it barely registers.  
  
“I want to watch,” Niall hisses.  
  
“If they start having angry make-up sex, I’m out,” Zayn whispers, but he’s staring as hard as the rest of them.  
  
The worst part is, Louis hasn’t said a word.  The whole time Harry’s been yelling, he hasn’t said one thing.  And Louis is _always_ saying _something_.  Harry’s grip loosens on Louis’ lapel and only when Louis’ sneakers touch the floor, does Harry realize he’d been holding him two feet off the ground.  
  
Once released, Louis simply brushes off his coat and walks out, leaving Harry and all the others gaping after him.    
  
“Haz-” Liam is there, touching Harry’s shoulder, concern in his voice.  
  
“I’m fine,” Harry insists, shrugging Liam off, but his voice is all wrong, gone flat and emotionless.  When he walks out, the others don’t try to stop him.  
  
***  
  
Harry Styles is not horny - he’s horny and miserable.  His libido has ruined his friendship with Louis and the others probably think he’s stark-raving mad and he still hasn’t had a proper wank and all he wants to do is lie in bed and never get up again because how could he have been so _stupid_?  Shouting those things at Louis in front of the others, admitting to Louis and the others how he felt, which admittedly he’d probably hidden about as well as he’d hidden his boners, which was hardly at all.    
  
He’s got one even now and he’s beginning to think there’s something wrong with him because it’s not normal to be horny like this all the time, is it?  And then suddenly Louis is there, nudging Harry’s hip with his own and saying, “budge over, will you, you twat?” and Harry’s wordlessly shoving over, struck mute because what is Louis even doing there after all the shit he talked?  
  
“Still got that problem then?” Louis smirks, looking pointedly at Harry’s erection, which is tenting his sweats out obscenely.  Harry's face flames and he moves to cover it, but Louis stays his hand.  “You don’t have to hide it.”  
  
“Okay,” Harry shifts uncomfortably and motions to adjust himself, but Louis stops him again.  
  
“I didn’t say you could touch it either.”  And Harry just whimpers at that.  Louis has propped his head up on one elbow, his eyes roving over Harry’s body in a way that makes him feel naked and exposed and like he can’t breathe.    
  
“I must say...your display before was very arousing.  I liked seeing you a bit out of control,” Louis says huskily, trailing a finger pointedly down Harry’s chest.  He pauses at Harry’s hip, gently stroking the indent in a way that makes Harry’s cock twitch.  
  
“Lou-”  
  
“I’m not done,” Louis snaps, pinching Harry’s hip hard.  “What were you thinking going off on me like that in front of everyone?”  
  
“I had to do _something_.  I was going crazy and you weren’t even talking to me-”  Harry whined.  
  
“Did it ever occur to you,” Louis frowned.  “To just talk to _me_ about it?  Like a normal sodding person?”  
  
“I- I _came_ on your leg,” Harry stutters.  “Was a bit past talking.”  
  
“So you did,” Louis snorts, his hand going back to trace circles on Harry’s hip.  Harry groans, biting down on his lip, still sore from when he bit through it last, in an attempt to silence his cries beneath Louis.  “It was really sexy too.  Seeing you like that.  How out of control you were,” Louis says breathily.    
  
And then Louis is gripping Harry’s erection through his sweats, a bead of precum forming a wet spot near the elastic.  Harry’s breath hitches in his throat and his eyes flutter shut because Louis, _Louis_ , is touching him, touching him _there_.    
  
“Keep your eyes open.  I want you to watch,” Louis insists and then his hand is under Harry’s sweats and he’s touching Harry’s skin and Harry cries out because he’s wanted it so bad for so long.  
  
“Hopefully you can last a little longer this time,” Louis smirks, moving Harry’s hand to his groin, where his own hardness is pushing against his zipper.  “Then I can cum too.”  
  
“What?”  Harry pants, between Louis’ agonizingly slow strokes of his dick.  
  
“If you’d have just told me a wank was what you were after, we could have been doing it together all this time.”  
  
“Oh, God, Louis, _feelssogood_ , please,” Harry begs, as Louis slides Harry’s sweats down and continues his tortuously slow stroking.  
  
“So selfish, this one,” Louis rolls his eyes.  “Aren’t you even going to help me out of my trousers like a proper gentleman?”  
  
Harry blushes, because he’s been so consumed with his own _needneedneed_ , he’s forgotten Louis is right beside him, equally as hard and in need of release.  Well, maybe not _equally_. Harry’s a bit of a mess.  His hands are shaking so hard as they fumble with Louis’ zipper that Louis finally huffs and slaps Harry’s hands away, doing it himself.  
  
“Don’t know where the papers got the idea you’re some sort of playboy.  Probably couldn’t even unhook a bra-stap in this state.”  
  
Harry growls, squeezing Louis’ chest.  “Will I need to?”  
  
Louis grabs Harry’s ass roughly and pulls their bodies together, so the naked, fevered skin of Harry’s front is lined up with the naked, fevered skin of Louis’ front and Harry feels so dizzy and overwhelmed that for a second he thinks he might pass out.  “I think I preferred you when you were quiet,” Louis teases, before crushing his lips to Harry’s.    
  
Harry moans wantonly into Louis’ open mouth as their tongues clash together and their hips assume a frantic, stuttering pace, their erections grinding together.  
  
Louis reaches down between their pressed bodies and assumes a firm grip around the both of their erections, stroking upward.   “Ahh Lou,” Harry cries, because Louis’ cock is touching his cock and Louis hand is squeezing them both and after two weeks of no contact at all, he knows it’ll be over before it’s even started.  
  
“Don’t you dare,” Louis says, pulling down on Harry’s balls to halt his orgasm.  Harry yelps and buries his face into Louis’ collarbone, nipping at the skin there in a way that makes Louis falter in his pace, pumping slightly off-rhythm and with slightly more urgency now.  
  
Harry kisses Louis again, arching his back into it and humping his hips towards Louis’ tight fist.  “Louis, I’m sorry, I-” Harry mumbles into the kiss just before he loses it.  
  
Louis gasps as Harry’s dick shoots six, seven, eight times across their chests and onto Harry’s chin and hair.    
  
“Styles, you’re drowning me,” Louis pouts as all of Harry’s pent-up semen releases at once, his balls throbbing with each expulsion.  But Louis’ voice is a bit rough too and he’s still stroking on both of them, Harry a bit oversensitive now, as he watches Harry cum, seemingly forever, and then he’s joining him, crying _Hazzahazzahazza_ as he cums, though not nearly as much as Harry.  
  
Sated, Harry melts onto Louis’ chest, his body heavy and pliable.  “Lucky I’m not Zayn,” Louis says, still swiping at his chest.    
  
Harry raised an eyebrow quizzically.  “Can’t swim,” Louis quips.  
  
“You’re an idiot,” Harry says, shoving Louis half-heartedly.  
  
“But you still love me-” Louis says without thinking.  Harry looks up at Louis, searching his face carefully.  
  
“Yeah I do.  Is that okay?”  
  
Louis leans down, lifting Harry’s chin to kiss him gently.  “Yeah.  Yeah.  It’s okay.”  
  
“Can we do this again?” Harry asks, nuzzling his face into the one bit of Louis’ chest that isn’t covered in semen.  
  
“Yeah.  I’d like that.”  
  
Harry raises an eyebrow, “shower then?”  
  
“Thought you’d never ask,” Louis grins.  
  



End file.
